Without a Trace
by DarkNite109
Summary: Mustang has been kidnapped by some crazed rebels and Hawkeye is going to get him back no matter what the cost. However, there are some people making things difficult, so the Lieutenant has no choice but to call in the troops...
1. Prolouge

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Fullmetal Alchemist, though it would be highly awesome if I did.

A/N: Yo! I'm Nite, and it is very nice to meet you! This is going to be a fic centering around Mustang and Hawkeye, but there's gonna be a bunch of other characters too, including Ed, Al, and some of the Homunculi.

Enjoy!

Downtown Central, 21:14

Colonel Roy Mustang dug his hands further into his pockets. The acrid burning smell of the street lights was settling in his throat. He coughed into a clenched fist. This was all he needed, to smell like cheap electric lights.

He turned a street corner, finding himself in the familiar noise and bustle of Central's nightlife. Light poured out onto the sidewalk, fighting its way out of the dozens of questionable establishments. Mustang passed a couple of prostitutes on the side of the road, avoiding eye contact. He wasn't dressed in his uniform, so he was fare game to them. They saw an attractive man in his upper twenties, not a renowned army Colonel and war hero.

This was the fastest route to the center of town, and he was already late. He wouldn't have even admitted it at gunpoint, but he had spent a lot of time dithering in front of the mirror about what he was going to wear. It pissed him off that he was so worried about this; they were just two friends out for coffee, after all…

Mustang groaned internally. How many times had he laughed at his military buddies for claiming the girls they were dating were just 'friends'? It was the first indication that he was losing his edge. Was he getting old?

Now that was a frightening thought.

Still, who needed an edge, really? Hawkeye was liable to shoot him in the face for being late either way. He knew his suave and sexy act wouldn't work on her, she knew him too well. But was he just supposed to act like he did in the office?

_I'm beginning to understand why co-worker relationships are frowned upon. _

Honestly, he had no idea why he'd asked her out anyway.

Sighing, Mustang turned onto a narrow side street.

….

Two figures watched from a rooftop as the dark-haired man turned into the alley. Jire laughed softly to himself. What an idiot, going off alone in a place like this!

"That's him," he muttered.

"Are you sure?" the girl at his shoulder asked. "He's kind of sexy. He doesn't look military ta me."

Jire rolled his eyes. Clax was relatively new at this. Sure, the guy wasn't dressed in a military uniform, but it was very easy to tell he was in the money. His brown leather jacket and dark pants were worn and kind of threadbare, but they were high quality shit. Besides, he'd recognize that face anywhere.

"Colonel Roy Mustang," he said through gritted teeth. "That's definitely him."

"This should be good," Clax giggled, clamping her knife in her teeth and making a move to the edge of the roof. Jire grabbed her elbow.

"Slow down, dumbass. Do you wanna get blasted the fuck apart?" He dug around in one of the many pockets covering the cargo pants he wore, pulling out a small black stone wrapped in some kind of fibrous plant. "I'll go first."

Jire waited until the Colonel was directly below him. He jumped off the roof, landing soundlessly a few feet behind. Or at least, he thought he'd been soundless. The Colonel was still walking, but one of his hands strayed to his coat pocket. Most of Jire's targets would pull a gun at this point, but he knew this one would break out something much different.

"You know, it takes a great moron among men to sneak up on a state alchemist." Mustang spun around, snapping the finger of his right hand. At the sight of that face, icy fear took hold of Jire, but he swallowed it, thrusting the stone out in front of him. The cocky expression on the Colonel's face quickly became one of unease. He snapped his finger again, igniting a tiny spark against the blackness of the night. That was working fine, but try as he might he could seem to make the flame catch. No, the gloves weren't malfunctioning.

He was.

"Awww, are you broken, Colonel?" Jire taunted, brushing his fair hair off his sweaty forehead.

Mustang just smiled, reaching for his gun. "Okay, kid, I don't know what you—

He was cut off by the flat of a blade smashing into the side of his head. He swayed on the spot, slowly crumpling down onto the cracked pavement. Clax giggled again, sheathing her knife.

"He's even cuter when he's unconscious."

….

Java Java Café, 21: 35

This whole situation was beginning to grate on Hawkeye's nerves. Here she was in some little coffee bar in the middle of Central sitting at a table for two, _by herself. _She'd already been hit on twice and her perpetually thin patience was wearing even thinner

She hadn't actually believed it when the Colonel had asked her out. It had been this morning at headquarters. Mustang had been sitting at his desk filling out reports, as inefficiently as usual. He'd looked up to where Hawkeye was standing staring out the window.

"Hey, 1st Lieutenant."

She'd straightened up. "Sir."

"How do you feel about coffee?"

"Sir?"

Mustang had set down his pen. "I asked how you feel about coffee. Answer the question, Lieutenant."

Hawkeye had wondered if this was supposed to be some kind of code. "I, uh, like coffee, sir."

"Good. Then how about getting some with me tonight?"

"Very funny, sir."

"I'm being serious Lieutenant. Do you see a smile on my face?"

He had a point there. He definitely hadn't been smiling.

So Hawkeye had agreed to have coffee with him, more out of shock than anything else. What the hell had he been thinking?

_Did he suddenly look up and realize I was a female or is he just bored? _

Whatever the case, he was over twenty minutes late and she was worried. Had something happened to him along the way? The thought that he had stood her up didn't even cross her mind. He wasn't that kind of guy, and besides, he knew if he did she would shoot him in the face next time she saw him at the office.

Running her fingers through her loose hair, she leaned her elbows on the wooden counter. As much as it bothered her to admit it, she had been looking forward to this, looking forward to seeing Roy outside of military command. Hawkeye was the best when it came to controlling her emotions, but even she would have to be blind not to see what an attractive man the Colonel was. And she had been serving under him for too long not to have an emotional attachment.

Glancing at her watch one last time, she stood up. Leaving money for the coffee on the counter, she left the little shop. Part of her wanted to just go home and go to sleep, while the other half was ready to make as many phone calls as it took to track the guy down.

She already knew which half would win.


	2. Day 2:Uncomfortable Positions

Disclaimer: Nay, I own not Fullmetal Alchemist.

Thanks so much to all the reviewers. All four of you! Yeah, I really love reviews, so if you like my story, leave me one. If you leave a flame, you will be ignored and placed under a voodoo curse. Thank you very much!

Chapter 2

Day One

Abandoned Warehouse. Thursday, 05:23

Somehow, he managed to find a shred of consciousness and cling to it desperately, resisting the urge to sink back into the comfortable blackness. There seemed to be nothing in the waking world but pain.

"Urrk," Mustang groaned. His head felt incredibly heavy and huge, like someone had pumped it full of hot air. God, he hoped it didn't get so full it flew away! Upon analyzing that _extremely _coherent thought, he groped for his head in an attempt to make sure it was still there. He found he couldn't move his hands in the least. They seemed to be in the wrong place. Instead of down by his sides, they were a few feet above his head!

What was going on here?

Mustang's eyes snapped open. Forcing himself to think straight, he tilted his pain-ridden head upward.

And there was the answer. His hands _were _above his head. He was tied up, arms shackled to chains that were connected to the high ceiling. That also explained why he couldn't even move his damn fingers; all the blood from his arms had drained downwards, leaving his hands completely numb. Blinking furiously to clear his vision, Mustang looked down. His legs were slack and curled up beneath him. Wincing, he forced them to support him. There, that was better. Now his arms weren't holding all of his weight.

One thing all this thinking proved; his head was definitely still there.

But god dammit, what in the world had happened?

He had been going to meet Hawkeye, he remembered that much. Had he seen her? No…he had been attacked before that. There had been a man. Well, more like a kid, actually. The kid had been holding something, something that stopped Mustang from using alchemy. He grimaced in disgust. What kind of idiot was he, allowing himself to completely rely on the fire? He should have been prepared for any eventuality.

The old Mustang would have been. The Mustang from the war would have—

He stopped himself before he could go on. He had more important things to worry about than self-loathing right now. Trying to ignore the pounding in his head, Mustang surveyed his surroundings. A room with a high ceiling; very big and very empty. Most likely a warehouse of some kind. He was facing a blank and dirty wall and the floor beneath him was made of cement. His jacket was lying a few feet to the left.

That made him notice something else. He was freezing. But that made no sense. It was September, it shouldn't be this cold.

Unless he wasn't in Central anymore. If he was far to the north, then the cold could be explained. He wondered if there was snow outside. He hadn't seen snow since he was—

"Stop," he commanded himself. He needed to focus, he needed to stop his mind from drifting faster than a piece of rotted wood caught in an undertow. Whoever had hit him had really done their job. It was a miracle he could even remember who he was. Mustang forced his eyes open again, sweeping the small expanse of wall in his range of vision for any way out. Then he tilted his head back, trying to gauge the efficiency with which he'd been chained up.

As he suspected. Perfectly solid.

"Dammit," he muttered. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

……

Central Command, 08:44

"Sir, this is unacceptable!" Hawkeye slammed her palms down onto the desk, rattling it to its foundations.

Colonel Archer didn't bother to stand up, just fixed her with a patronizing gaze. "I will decide what is acceptable and what is not, _1st Lieutenant, _not you. And please remove your hands from my desk. It's rickety enough as it is."

Hawkeye let her arms drop to her sides, beating down her anger and putting it under lock and key. She had _a lot _of experience at that. If emotional control was an Olympic event, she knew who'd take home the gold.

"Colonel Archer," she began again, in an apparently even and reasonable tone (yeah right), "Colonel Mustang is two hours late. It's the opinion of this _1st Lieutenant," _she cleared her throat, "That he may be missing in action."

Archer flipped through a couple of his files, dumped them on his desk, then glanced back up at Hawkeye, as if surprised that she was still there. "Lieutenant, arriving two hours late to command may be unprofessional on Colonel Mustang's part, and I'll be sure to put in a word about that to the Fuhrer, but I hardly think it merits a search party."

Hawkeye clenched her fists. _He isn't just two hours late, he's about twelve hours late. _Mentally, she cursed the day the heavens had conspired against her to send this little rodent of a man into her professional life. Stiffly, she saluted and left the office.

Sure, she had a perfectly good reason for worrying about Mustang. He'd stood her up last night. Something had obviously happened to him, but she had a feeling Archer wouldn't really appreciate that as a reason.

Dammit, why did he have to be the only other high ranking officer around today?

With a frustrated sigh, she made her way down the hall and into the office Mustang and his team members dominated as their own. Two heads turned as she entered.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" Havoc jumped to his feet, throwing himself into a sharp salute. Sergeant Fury tried to follow, but this action was made difficult by the fact that he had just swallowed a large bite of bagel. His words came out more like "Lumtiemph Hamkumph!"

Hawkeye nodded. "2nd Lieutenant. And Sergeant, thank you so much for the kind words."

Fury blushed, stammering out an apology. Hawkeye allowed herself a brief smile before her eyes snapped toward the other two chairs at the table, which were currently empty. "Where's the rest of our team of stalwart warriors?"

"Coffee break," Havoc answered, resuming his seat and picking up his pen. He narrowed his eyes, as if the report he was filling out had personally insulted him.

"Is the Colonel in yet?" Fury inquired.

"No," Hawkeye answered, staring at the floor for a moment. Would they trust her? Would they help?

Did she even have to ask?

"I'm worried," she said seriously, gaze traveling from one soldier to the other, "About Colonel Mustang, I mean."

"Worried?" Havoc and Fury spoke in unison, then threw each other identical glares.

"Yes. He's gone missing."

"But he's only about…" Havoc glanced at his watch. "…Precisely two hours, seven minutes, and thirty seconds late. How is that missing?"

Hawkeye gave him her trademark glower. "I know, but he's missing all the same."

Havoc and Fury exchanged glances. "Okay, so what's out plan of action?"

A Rundown Inn in some Obscure Part of the Country, 9:44

Envy grinned at the mirror, surveying his reflection with amusement. Of all the forms he had ever taken, this had to be his favorite. Second favorite, after his usual one. Exhaling shallowly, he let his cells ripple, transforming his body back into the skinny, green-haired boy in spandex. This form was perfect for everyday wear and tear, and it was easy to move in. Easy to kill in. And it was cute, too.

He leaned closer to the mirror, a thought hitting him. Who was more attractive, Lust or him? Envy puzzled over this as his body molded into the shape of a shapely woman with an orobora on her chest. He frowned at the reflection. Lust was beautiful, but no way was she as cool as he was. He could look like anyone. That immediately made him the most attractive person in the world, didn't it?

Of course it did.

Smiling evilly, he reverted to the form he had been admiring a moment ago. His current favorite form. Honey-colored eyes stared back at him, the tips of his blond bangs growing down to slightly obscure his vision. Envy spun in a little circle, liking the way the long red coat furled out around his legs.

Time to have some fun.

Before he left, he took one last look in the mirror. The visage of the Fullmetal Alchemist stared back at him, identical to the original.

If you ignored the feral gleam of the eyes and cruel twist of the mouth, they could have been one in the same.

Please Review!

Oh, and if anyone knows the name of the other two guys in Mustang's crew (meaning the grey haired dude and the fat guy) tell me. I can't remember.


	3. Day 3: Social Calls

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. There's been school and college applications and senior projects and all that other great stuff that makes you want to drive large nails into your temples. Ahem. Anyway, I'm getting close to the end of my other current fic, The Heart of the Matter, and after that I will be able to work on this full time. Well, there's always my book…let me rephrase. I will be able to work on it full-fic-time, how's that?

-----

Chapter 3

Day 3: Social Calls

Eastern Border, The Milestone Inn, 06:43

The Fullmetal Alchemist shifted in his sleep, muttering something that sounded vaguely like "no, not the toaster oven…"

"Brother!"

Ed sat bolt upright, reflexes bringing his palms together. A hulking shape loomed over his bed, making realization strike. He let out his breath in a long sigh.

"Al, I wish you'd stop doing that," he muttered, brushing his messy blond hair out of his eyes.

The giant suit of armor standing at the foot of his bed glared disapprovingly. And yes, Ed had never thought it possible for a hunk of metal to glare either, not until he'd sealed his brother's soul into one.

"The innkeeper's downstairs. He says there's someone on the phone for you."

Ed furrowed his brow. "For me?" He swung himself out of bed, wincing slightly as his automail leg took his weight. It always took a few minutes when he woke up for the nerves to start working properly again. Scooping up his shirt from where he'd tossed it carelessly on the floor, he followed his brother downstairs.

The innkeeper, a balding man in his mid-fifties, was standing in the hall, grinning and holding the phone receiver up with one careless finger. "It's about time. The Fullmetal Alchemist not a morning person?"

Ed told the innkeeper to go put something in an unsavory place, which just made the man laugh harder. He handed over the phone and retreated back into the kitchen. Ed glared at the receiver before holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Edward?" The voice on the other end was relived. "Thank god. Do you know how hard it is to track you down?"

"Wait a minute…Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Alphonse, who was standing at Ed's shoulder, started in surprise.

"Yes, it's Riza Hawkeye," came the clipped reply. "Ed, I need to ask you a favor."

Ed's early-morning haze was departing quickly. "What is it, Lieutenant? You sound worried."

"I am, Ed. I need you and your brother to come to Central as soon as possible."

Ed's first instinct was to bristle at her authoritative tone, but the undercurrent of anxiety it carried stopped him. There really was something wrong, and it seemed Hawkeye really did need his help. He could forgive her for telling him what to do at six o'clock in the morning. He liked Riza; if it had been Mustang…Well, he wasn't aware of a way to send alchemy through the phone, but…

"We'll be there," Ed told her. He saluted, forgetting she couldn't see him.

"Thanks." The line went dead.

"She doesn't waste words, does she?" Ed mused, returning the phone to its cradle.

He turned to see Alphonse watching him, his great metal arms folded. "What's going on?"

Ed sighed in resignation. "Pack the bags, Al. We're going to visit some old friends."

…….

Abandoned Warehouse, 06:59

Mustang awoke to a stinging slap across the face. His already pounding head reached an explosive crescendo, but he bit down the urge to gasp in pain. True, he was hanging from his arms in an abandoned warehouse somewhere up north and he was constantly fighting the urge to vomit, but he still refused to show a hint of weakness.

"Tough guy, huh? Sexy."

Mustang forced his eyes opened. His head felt like it was about to split in half. There was a woman standing in front of him, hands on her hips. Her hair was brown and thick and cut short to the ears. The clothes she was dressed in were little more than rags, but she wore them like a gown of satin. Every inch of her screamed leader.

But the inch Mustang's gaze was drawn to were her eyes. They were almond-shaped, and framed with long lashes. And they were red.

"Ishbal," he muttered.  
He was rewarded with another blow to the face. A little gasp escaped his lips this time, but he still forced himself to make eye contact with those eyes. They held more hate than anything he'd ever seen in his life.

And that was saying something.

"I suppose you're wondering why we've brought you here," she said, turning her head to the side and tapping her foot in rhythm with her words.

"Who's 'we'?" Mustang grunted.

The woman stepped to the side, revealing two others slouching against the wall. One was young and female, her hair cut like a boy's. She looked bored; humming something under her breath and staring out into space. The other was a boy, light-haired and skinny. He was staring at the Colonel with a kind of fury that, if possible, rivaled that off the woman who'd slapped him.

"Of course, there are more of us, but you don't need to be concerned with that." The woman stepped in front of him once more. "My name is Silya, and you and I are going to get to know each other better in the next few days…"

Mustang shuddered. Here, finally, was a woman he didn't want to get to know better.

……

Some Random Building, 08:34

"Lust?"

A scraggly-haired kid stuck his head around the door, setting his gaze on the woman standing motionless at the window. Her arms were crossed across her chest, eyes staring out through the grimy glass. She looked up at the sound of her name.

"Yes, Wrath?"

"Where's Envy?"

Lust turned from the window, her fingers running through her thick hair luxuriously.

"You know our Envy. Always out doing something less than intelligent."

"What does that mean?" Wrath demanded. He was sick and tired of Lust and all her cryptic games. She treated him like he was a little boy! Well, technically he was. But that was beside the point. "I want to know where he is!" He considered adding something about Lust being an old hag, like Envy once had, but that woman could be scary.

He just wasn't brave enough.

Lust turned once again to the window, but Wrath could see her reflection in the glass. She was smiling in that way of hers, the way that they all had seen countless times before. A way that spelled bad news for all parties involved.

----

Residential District, Central, 17:32

The doorbell rang around five-thirty in the afternoon. Winry tramped down the hall, rubbing a bit of grease off her shoulder. She had been staying with a girl named Shezka in Central for the past few weeks, and had gotten damn tired of the sink clogging up every single time you glanced its way. So she had tied back her hair and pulled out her tools. They were meant to be used on automail, but come on. Automail, household appliances. Same thing.

"I got it, Shez," she called, opening the door.

"Hey, Winry."

"Hey…wow,"

It was Ed. This in itself wasn't surprising. Ed was everywhere these days, sometimes in Central, sometimes out searching for the annoyingly legendary and painfully illusive Philosopher's Stone. Winry never knew when she'd turn around and find him smiling up at her (and yes, she'd said _up_), blond bangs in his eyes and lopsided grin on his face. But today, somehow, he looked different. More grown up, maybe. He had traded his usual look for a blue open-necked shirt and black pants. The long red coat was nowhere to be seen.

_Hope it's in the wash, _Winry couldn't help thinking. _Thing's beginning to smell a little ripe. _

"How are you?" he asked, a tiny emphasis on the word 'are'. Winry wasn't sure if it was meant to sound condescending or friendly.

"I'm okay...I guess," she mused, folding her arms and tapping her wrench against her shoulder blade distractedly. "Where's Al?"

Ed's face clouded.

"Don't tell me you two are fighting again!"

"Yeah, that's it," Ed answered coolly. "We had a fight."

Winry raised her eyebrows. "Okay, try not to sound _too _upset."

He shrugged. "I'm just not in the mood to care about things like that at the moment."

Winry leaned back against the door jam. "Oh yeah? Well, what are you in the mood for?"

Edward just gave her a smug grin.

-----

Central Command, 17:48

"I've told you a million times! Are you even listening to me?"

Ed pushed his sweaty bangs out of his face, fighting to keep his temper. Unfortunately, this was not an area in which he was radically gifted. The girl behind the front desk at Central Command shifted her papers in what seemed to Ed an annoyingly superior way. She was older than him, but not by much.

"Look, sweetie. If you and your…" Her eyes flitted to the looming presence that was Al. "_Friend, _don't have a feasible reason to be here—."

"I do have a feasible reason, dammit! Lieutenant Hawkeye called me, and I'm the frickin' Fullmetal Alchemist!" He stuck the etched silver pocket watch into her face.

The girl was unimpressed. "Just 'cause you got a watch doesn't mean you're a state alchemist. You could have stolen that from anyone."

Her voice was dripping with so much pretension it made Ed slightly nauseous. "Come on! You think I could steal this from an _alchemist? _Are you crazy? Who in their right mind would steal from an alchemist?"

A heavy hand suddenly descended on his shoulder. "Calm down, Brother," Al said, taking his usual roll as the reasonable one. "It's not her fault she's never met us. Besides, it's true. You really don't look like a state alchemist."

"Yeah, you're a little short," the girl piped up.

Edward clenched his fists. Luckily, it was then that Lieutenant Hawkeye arrived on the scene. So the little girl got to live.

"It's alright," the Lieutenant told her. "These boys are with me."

They set off into the labyrinth of halls that was Central Command. Hawkeye was moving with grim purpose and, though he wouldn't have admitted it under pain of death, Ed had a hard time keeping up with her long strides. Why had she called him, he wondered? Usually it was Mustang who did the summoning…

Ugh! Mustang! Just thinking about that cynical, wise-cracking bastard was enough to make Ed want to transmute his automail into a blade and shred things up. What would it be this time? _Oh, Edward, it's you! And I thought we were having a dwarf infestation…_

Ugh. The things he had to deal with.

As it turned out, Al spoke his thoughts for him.

"What is this all about, Lieutenant?"

Hawkeye didn't answer. It was difficult to detect, but someone who knew her well would have noticed the grim set to her mouth and the anger glinting in her eyes, just below the surface.

Suddenly, Ed's worry-o-meter went up several notches.

Neither he nor Al attempted to make anymore conversation until they had reached a familiar office door. The men inside saluted the moment Hawkeye walked in.

"At ease," she said.

Edward stepped inside, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. He still didn't really know how to react to the four other members of Mustang's team. He was a state alchemist, meaning he was automatically above them in rank, so they called him 'Sir'. Ed could tell it bothered them, respectfully addressing a kid. Still, all of them were good people, and loyal to a fault.

There was the blond and constantly-smoking Havoc, the forgetful and slightly blustering Fury, the stoic Falman, and then there was Breta, who one could call spastic on a good day. All of them greeted the two brothers warmly.

"Sit down."

The order came like a whip-crack, breaking through the reunion. All eyes went to Hawkeye. There was anger written in every line of her face, but Edward could tell it wasn't them she was mad at. Who it was, he had no idea, but he did know that when Hawkeye began to show emotion, it was the time to get scared.

"Lieutenant, what the heck is going on?"

She turned her sharp gaze to the pint-sized alchemist. "Colonel Mustang's gone and lost himself, and the army won't help me find him. That's where you two come in."

_Shit, _Ed couldn't help thinking. _I knew it wasn't a social call. _


End file.
